Page 25 of Summertime Hexy
But for once, I don't want to.
Her voice is barely a whisper. "That wasn't...bad..."
I resist the urge to smirk. "It never is."
Her lips twitch. "Are we going to address the weird sexual tension you just brought into arts and crafts?"
"Are you always like this?"
I can feel the tension between us, this magnetic pull that's been building since the moment I tasted her blood. Hazel's eyes blaze with defiance and—is that desire?
She hesitates, searching for a quip, but nothing comes out. Typical Hazel, always needing to have the last word. But instead of surrendering, she makes a frustrated sound, throwing her hands up briefly before declaring, "Fuck it."
And then her lips are crashing against mine.
There's no finesse, no gentle exploration. Just raw, desperate need that mirrors my own. I meet her with equal ferocity as her fingers thread through my hair, gripping tightly as she uses the leverage to pull me closer.
My hands move to her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the worktable behind her. The paints scatter with a clatter, but I couldn't care less. She parts her legs, welcoming me between them as her tongue demands entry past my lips.
I oblige eagerly, deepening the kiss as my hands roam across her body, squeezing the soft curves I've longed to touch. She whimpers against me in approval, nails digging into the back of my neck—a pleasurable sting that sends sparks down my spine.
Our clothes become obstacles. We rip and tear at them in our haste, buttons flying off her blouse, zippers torn apart without care. I can't think beyond Hazel—her taste, her scent, the heat of her skin against mine. We push and shove the remaining clutter off the table, clearing a space for us to tumble back.
Her body is bare beneath me now, panting and wild-eyed. I've never seen anything more beautiful. She reaches for me, tearing at my remaining garments, too impatient to be graceful. The roughness of her desire fans the flames in my blood as she takes me in her hand, stroking. I have to bury my face in her neck to stifle a moan, my fangs grazing her skin, craving to taste her again.
"I need you inside me," Hazel gasps, bucking her hips against mine.
Fucking hell.
Her words are a siren's call, and I answer immediately, positioning my cock at her entrance. I sink into her pussy with one hard, deep thrust, and she cries out, throwing her head back in ecstasy.
I begin to move, relentless at first, losing myself in her tight heat. Hazel's legs wrap around my waist, locking me in place as she meets me thrust for thrust. The table groans under our weight, shifting unsteadily with every wild movement, but I don't slow down.
"Don't you dare stop," she growls.
"Not a chance," I manage, my voice rough with effort. "Not until you're a wreck."
Our bodies meld, sweat-slicked and desperate. Her fingernails rake down my back, urging me deeper, and I biteback a growl of pure primal pleasure as I drive my cock harder into her.
It's all-consuming madness: the pounding of our hearts, the sharp tang of her sweat and blood in the air, the soft sounds of her moans circling me like a spell. Her hips roll in rhythm with mine, urging me to go harder, faster.
I feel her muscles tense as she nears the precipice, her breaths reduced to sharp, needy whimpers against my neck. One of her hands tangles in my hair again, pulling sharply as she begs, "More, more, please?—"
I obey, swallowing her cries with another searing kiss as she shatters around me, her body clamping down hard, coming with so much noise I'm almost worried she'll wake up the whole camp.
She tightens around me like a vice, and with one last thrust, I follow her over the edge, spilling myself deep inside her. The world shatters, and for a moment, I'm nothing but raw sensation: the taste of her blood on my tongue, the perfect heat of her body around me, the desperate, needful sounds she makes as we both come undone.
I'm still buried in her when I open my eyes, and all I can see is Hazel. Magnificent, beautiful, messy Hazel, hair fanned out beneath her, face flushed with pleasure and wonder.
"What was that?" she whispers, her voice shaking slightly. She's trying not to laugh, or maybe to cry, or maybe some terrible combination of the two.
"I think," I say, swallowing hard, "that was fucking stupid and fantastic all at once."
"Smart and dangerous," Hazel counters, her hands running through her hair. "Brave and reckless. That kind of thing."
I don't dare try to make sense of it. Not right now. I simply nod, too raw to do much else.
She laughs then, sharp and bright, and the tension breaks. "You know," she says, tracing a finger down my chest, "if we're going to make a habit of this, maybe we should find somewhere that doesn't threaten to collapse with every thrust."
